“You do?” he asked, and there was actually a kindly glint in that fishy eye. “So that’s how it makes you feel, does it?”
He rubbed his chin. He looked at her and saw her as a person instead of a courier, a person who had watched him climb that ladder. There would be no letter to the company. She had him.
“Well, well, well,” he said jovially. “Well well well.”
CHAPTER THREE
The Madden boy was worried about his laundry. It was a week late, he couldn’t remember who was doing it for him, and besides he was having one of those moods that made him worry about little things. It was not so much the tragic lack of socks, he told Harvey Todd, but there were three shirts in it that belonged to Bob Stuart.
“I hate not returning people’s clothes,” he said. “I hate wearing them in the first place but this time I couldn’t help it. It’s maddening.”
Harvey never rose to the heights of hysteria, and this time he was almost phlegmatic. “It’ll be along,” he said. “Don’t forget, some of it was mine. I’ll help you yell when the time comes. Jesus, I’m late.” He slammed down his cup on the table, between a broken tumbler and an eggy plate, and hurried out of the door, carrying his hat.
“Canaille,” said Teddy humorously. “Cochon,” he added into the mirror, scowling fiercely.
“Señor?” asked a tremulous voice at the door. A little girl held out a huge bundle as he opened the screen. “Eighty-four cents,” she said. “My mother says she can’t find one sock. She send tomorrow.”
“Oh, yes? Well, tell her I’ll pay then.”